


the dust in your wake

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blade of Marmora Keith, But also not, Canon Compliant, Keith needs a hug, M/M, Season 4 Spoilers, VOLTRON SEASON 4, but platonically, im bad at tagging, klance, like it's implied, more than romantically?, season 4 fix-it fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 03:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12380385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: where keith has a reason to leave, but not so much of one to stay(a behind-the-scenes for season 4)





	the dust in your wake

**Author's Note:**

> wow okay so season 4 left me Shook in so many different ways and i wrote like 1k of this the evening it came out and the rest of it tonight at eleven pm.
> 
> unedited and so bad oh gosh.  
> :)  
> enjoy!

  
  


The purple robes feel wrong on his skin. 

 

It’s...nothing important. But his paladin armor is supposed to be stiff and sturdy and confining. Even when he switched to piloting the Black Lion, he kept his old red armor. He’s fought so many battles in it, been stabbed with more swords and shot with more guns than he can count. He’s spent hours cleaning it and polishing it, restless hands trying to smooth out the dents and scrub off the remnants of bloodstains, even though Allura insists that they  _ have an automatic system _ and that he’s being completely ridiculous. He doesn’t pay attention. It gives him something to do, late at night, when his muscles are too sore to practice with the training system or he has too much on his mind to do anything other than sit there, quietly in his room, polishing the same inch of his suit for hours at a time.

 

This, on the other hand - loose, insulated fabric and starchy, skintight bodysuit - doesn’t feel right at all.

 

“Keith.”

 

The gruff voice comes from the doorway, and Keith drops his hands from where he was fidgeting with his sleeve to look up. Kolivan stands, back straight, shoulders square, face devoid of any expression whatsoever. He has two swords strapped to his back, black boots strapped up his legs and the purple cloak wrapped around the purple robes. Keith can see the white edge of a bandage in vivid contrast against the dark of his uniform. He looks back down at his own hands.

 

“It’s time to leave,” Kolivan says. He’s watching Keith now, with something that looks an awful lot like amusement written over his features. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that Kolivan sounded almost sympathetic. Keith could be wrong. Kolivan isn’t the most expressive person he knows.

 

He clears his throat. “Yeah, got it,” Keith says. His voice sounds strange, even to his own ears, and he hopes that Kolivan doesn’t notice how it cracks on the last syllable. This, this here feels wrong. It feels like what Keith is supposed to do - it’s what Keith  _ wants _ to do, but-

 

Kolivan nods slowly, not taking his eyes away as he backs away. Footsteps recede down the hall, and he hears the  _ hiss _ ing of the automatic doors sliding open and shut. They’re getting the ships ready. He needs to go.

 

Keith sighs. He looks back in the mirror. From here, in this lighting, the purple of the suit looks like Galra skin. He pulls the hood up over his head, shadows falling upon his face, indigo-black in the dim lighting. He can just imagine that purple spreading, covering him from his head to his hands, down his chest to his feet.

 

Is this what he’ll become, someday?

 

_ No, _ Keith tells himself.  _ You aren’t like them _ .  _ You’re...trying to do the opposite of what they are. You’re the opposite of what they are _ . 

 

_ But what if you  _ aren’t, chimes in the small voice in his head. He’s trying to do the right thing here; why is this so  _ difficult _ ?

 

_ You’d kill for what you want, _ the voice reminds him.  _ You’d torture. You  _ have _ tortured. You’d tear apart families and homes, even Galran ones, in the name of Voltron _ .  _ There’s someone out there who despises you, because you killed their loved ones and blew up their home. _

 

Keith lets out a groan and slams a fist none too gently into the glass. The mirror sways.  “I’m not what they are,” he says aloud, to himself. His reflection looks back at him, looking definitely more terrified than Keith is sure he feels. He doesn’t sound very reassuring; he doesn’t feel very reassured.

 

“I’m...not what they are,” he mutters, more quietly this time.

 

_ “Dispatching unit nine to Galran supply ship 19X23Z. Kogane, Thije, Marles, meet Kolivan in the second docking port in 19. Doors close in 60...59...58...57...” _

 

The voice trails off,and the lights in the room start switching off. Keith needs to go.

 

“I need to do this,” he says to the mirror. His reflection doesn’t look entirely convinced. Keith sighs, pulls the hood over his head and the mask over his face.

 

This feels weird, foreign, but he has no more time left to dwell on it. He feels out of place, but also like he’s supposed to belong here.

 

“If I’m Galra,” Keith mutters, securing the straps of his sword on his back, “I might as well kick ass.”

 

~

 

It’s understandable that it’s going to be one of  _ those days _ when Keith walks down to the dining hall to find everyone staring at him, already waiting. They’ve turned expectantly toward his seat, and look at him as he walks through the door.

 

“Uh…”Keith shoots a glance up at the clock above Pidge’s seat. He’s not late - breakfast isn’t supposed to start for another half a varga. He likes to get down here early once in awhile, to eat in peace, think things over. To start the day on his own terms.

 

He walks slowly over to his seat, boots thudding softly against the smooth floor. “Is there...something wrong?” he asks. It comes out sounding unnecessarily accusatory, and he winces as Allura’s look takes on both a more wounded tone and a sharper glare.

 

Silence hangs in the air, heavy and palpable, and so thick that Keith could probably cut through it with his knife. It takes a while for any of them to talk - long enough for him to slide into his seat and scoop a fresh mound of goo onto his plate. Hunk stares down at his fingers, and Pidge fidgets with her glasses. Lance fixes him with a look that Keith can’t quite decipher - a little worried, tense, angry?

 

Finally, Shiro speaks first. “Okay,” he says, and Keith can literally feel the tension in the room deflate. Pidge slumps down in her seat, looking relieved, and Allura’s shoulders relax, although she still has a weird look on her face. “I think there’s something we all need to talk about.”

 

Oh. He has a feeling he knows where this is going. He doesn’t look Shiro in the eye. It’s easier to look down at his plate, to scoop a little bit of the goo onto his spoon and focus all his attention onto lifting it into his mouth. It tastes worse than usual today, like grass and styrofoam, and it sits heavy in his throat on the way down, but it’s still better than the conversation he’s sure will follow.

 

Shiro clears his throat. “Keith,” he says knowingly. He looks up to find the rest of them looking at him again.

 

Keith slumps back in his chair. “Yeah,” he replies.

 

Allura opens her mouth to talk, but Lance gets there first. 

 

“We’re worried about you,” he says simply.

 

Everyone looks at him, surprised, and he shrugs. “Look, I’m not about to beat around the bush. Okay? There’s something here that we need to talk about, and there’s no point trying to drag it out.  _ You _ ,” he adds, pointing a finger at Keith accusingly, “need to talk to us, buddy. Something’s wrong, we can all feel it.”

 

Normally, Keith would deny it. He would get angry, get defensive, spit out some brash comments that sound superficial and insincere and walk to his room. He’d spend the rest of the day thinking about all the things that he wishes he could talk to them about - his near-daily identity crises, his desire to know something, anything, about his past, how he doesn’t quite feel like he fits in with Voltron, but he feels unmistakably out of place in the Blade.

 

How the last thing he wants is to isolate himself from the rest of them, but he doesn’t know how to approach them for help.

 

Instead, Keith sighs. “Yeah, alright,” he concedes. He can feel the surprised looks they shoot at him, but he doesn’t look up quite yet. “I’ve been...thinking a lot lately.”

 

“Oh, Keith,” Hunk interjects. “That can’t possibly mean well for you.”

 

Keith presses his lips together. Is he about to start crying? He can’t cry in front of them. They’re an emotionally vulnerable group, the odd seven of them, and while they might try to make him feel better, he’s going to feel even worse afterwards. “No,” Keith agrees. “It doesn’t.” He toes at the ground with his foot, plate of goo gone completely ignored on the table.

 

“Okay,” Keith says at last. Here it goes. All or nothing.  _ Just do it _ , he thinks.

 

“I’ve been working with the Blade of Marmora,” he blurts out, the words falling out of his mouth in a twisted jumble all at once.

 

Silence.

 

You could’ve heard a pin drop in the room. Keith’s heart pounds in his ears and his stomach lurches, worst-case scenarios running through his head at a hundred miles an hour.

 

Worst case, they get mad at him. They think he doesn’t trust them or that they aren’t good enough for him. Worst case, they doubt him and mistake this all as him rejecting their offer of something that works seamlessly together.

 

Like a family.

 

“Well,” Allura speaks up. Her voice is stern, but not entirely unkind. There’s something glimmering at the edges of her expression that reminds Keith of a puppy. “That isn’t what I was expecting at all.”

 

“Yeah, Keith,” Pidge agrees. “I thought you were like...planning on leaving team Voltron or something.” She laughs, too loudly and a little nervously. “But that’s not it. Thank goodness.”

 

Coran makes a noise of agreement next to her. “You really had me scared there for a second, my boy.”

 

Keith’s stomach lurches as he remembers the conversation he had with Kolivan the week before. It was something he was supposed to have talked to them about by now. But everyone’s expression is of relief, almost all traces of concern or worry gone, and he can’t. He can’t bring himself to have that conversation now.

 

Lance catches his eye from across the table, and Keith frowns when he sees Lance raise an eyebrow at him. “You’re...working with the Blade.”

 

“I am,” Keith confirms, some of the confidence finding him again. He picks at a fingernail. “Just...blowing up supply ships, planting trackers, that sorta thing.” He looks around at everyone, dread settling in the pit of his stomach. “Um, now that I mentioned it-”

 

“Well, that’s  _ brilliant _ , Keith!” Allura cries, eyes sparkling. He’s taken aback by how genuinely happy she looks. “I’m so happy for you!”

 

She is? “You are?”

 

“I know you’ve been having a bit of a tough time recently. We all have,” she adds. “But if this is something you need to do, then, well, all of us are behind you.”

 

Okay, he’s choking up now. “I…” He clears his throat and uncrosses his arms. “Thanks. Thank you. That...means a lot you guys.”

 

Hunk wipes a tear away. “You  _ guys _ ,” he says. “Look what you did.”

 

The rest of them laugh. Keith turns away, a weird mix of emotions starting to form in his stomach. Half of his fears have been assuaged; the other half have just been made worse.

 

~

 

There are no real windows in Keith’s room, but the wall next to his bed faces the same direction as the observation deck. He’s been too tired to spar with the training bots recently, maybe a real tell as to the fact that something has been kind of off with him recently, but this is a good alternative. A better alternative, perhaps, when the rare occasion arises that Keith figures it’s time to sit down and  _ think _ , instead of trying to  _ push away _ .

 

The wall points to the same expanse of space as does the west side of the curved glass dome in the observation room. Keith was there just a few minutes ago, and he can still see the occasional speck of a planet floating by his line of vision. Hunk told him once that space is over 99.9 percent empty. He sits on the bed, crosses his legs over the rumpled sheets, presses a hand to the cold aluminum, and wonders how big the universe must be if everything they’ve seen already is significantly less than 0.1% of all known matter.

 

Space isn’t just big. It’s fucking  _ incomprehensible _ .

 

_ Tap tap _ . The knock on his door is faint, but loud enough to snap him out of his reverie.

 

“Come in,” Keith says, yanking his hand away from the wall like he’s been burned. He can’t help but feel like he’s been found doing something bad - caught with his hand in the metaphorical cookie jar. 

He expects Allura to walk in, ready to talk to him about diplomacy or what this whole Blade of Marmora thing means between their Altean/Galran history. He figures it’s most likely Hunk, who understands Keith’s personal needs for space and is able to differentiate between his public persona and what he’s thinking possibly more accurately than even Shiro.

 

What he doesn’t expect, however, is for the door to slide slowly open, and for Lance to step inside, slowly and cautiously, like he’s afraid that he’ll set off a bomb.

 

“Hey,” he says softly, eyes scanning the room, probably taking in the pile of clothes tossed haphazardly in the corner and the way his red and white armor sits in a crumpled pile on top. Lance’s eyes dart to the purple bodysuit next to it - hung up neatly on a hook next to the door - and they squint almost suspiciously.

 

“Hey,” Keith says, unbelievably awkwardly, in return. He never knows what to say to Lance. Lance, who seems to emit a vibrant, crackling kind of passion that Keith could probably never counter in any kind of conversation at all.

 

Lance doesn’t make eye contact with him for a solid minute and a half. Keith sighs inwardly, suddenly all too aware of the purple bags under his eyes and the chill that sweeps through the air as the Castle’s ventilation system kicks on for the night.

 

At last, Lance sighs, and steps completely into Keith’s room, letting the door slide swiftly shut behind him with a  _ swishhhh _ sound. “Okay,” he says, leaning casually against the doorframe. “What’s wrong?”

 

Keith gapes. He’s certain that he looks like a goldfish. “I...nothing.” He stares determinedly at a point just to the right of Lance’s face, not quite able to make eye contact.

 

“Bullshit.”

 

Startled, Keith’s eyes snap back to Lance’s face, and he’s surprised to see the anger written plainly over his features. He’s frowning worriedly and crosses his arms. “Don’t give me that...that... _ bullshit _ , Keith. Something’s up. It doesn’t take a semi-telepathic lion bond for someone to be able to tell. Now spill.”

 

Spill? Where would he even start? What would he even say?  _ I don’t think I belong here, with the first real family I’ve had in years - possibly ever _ . How could he break it to any of them? That he needs to leave? That he can’t stay? That he’s being so incredibly  _ selfish _ as to choose the Blade over his best friends?

 

The answer is simple: he just can’t.

 

But clearly, as luck would have it, that’s not how it goes. Because as well-versed as Keith may be in the art of hiding his emotions, Lance is clearly just that much more perceptive than Keith must have given him credit for. Realisation dawns upon Lance’s face, both hurt and worried and relieved at once:

 

“You’re about to do something really stupid, aren’t you?”

 

Keith cracks out a smile. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

 

“Any chance I-  _ we _ \- could talk you out of it?”

 

Keith shakes his head, slowly. “Probably not.”

 

“Yeah, I would think not,” Lance agrees, slowly walking over to the bed to perch on the wooden bedframe. “You’re a stubborn hothead when you want to be.” He stretches his legs out until his toes almost bump against Keith’s knees. “Any chance you could tell me what it is?”

 

Keith finds his gaze wandering over to the purple Blade of Marmora bodysuit hanging in the corner, none too subtly. He glances back down at the armor on the floor. Lance follows his gaze. Their eyes meet, and Lance’s eyes widen, barely perceptibly. 

 

“Oh,” Lance says.

 

“Yeah,” Keith says quietly.

 

They sit in silence for another few minutes, the air drenched in a kind of tension that’s different from their usual playful banter, but more serious than the atmosphere back at the dining hall earlier. Keith feels like he should say something, but he can’t  _ comfort _ Lance because that feels like it needs a capacity for selflessness that he isn’t quite ready to supply. He can’t quite  _ apologize _ either because that feels  _ too _ selfless, and he can recognize that he needs to do this - needs to do it for himself and for the rest of the team and for the future of the universe. He’s stuck replaying the same words over and over again in his head -  _ i’msorrybutihavetodothis.  _ They deserve better than that  cliché. All of them do.

 

“Are you going to tell them?” Lance’s voice breaks the silence. It doesn’t betray any emotion at all, and when Keith looks over at him, Lance is very pointedly looking at his fingers, picking at a loose thread in the sheets on Keith’s bed and, obviously, very clearly avoiding his gaze.

 

Is he going to tell them? “I don’t know,” Keith admits. He seems to have lost the ability to speak any louder. “I...don’t know.”

 

“Well, okay,” Lance says tersely. He takes a deep breath in, opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, then closes it again. He lets out a sigh, and slumps against the wall.

 

“Can I ask you a question, Lance?”

 

“Yeah,” he replies earnestly. “Shoot.”

 

“If I wasn’t here, what would you…” Keith pauses. “What would be the first thing you noticed? When I was gone?”

 

Lance is quiet for a minute, maybe two. Keith can hear the fans humming in the background, the faint grinding and clicking as the gears and machines work, deep inside the engines and motors, and he waits, head tilted back against the headboard and looking  _ through _ the wall. One planet, a million planets, a hundredth of a thousandth of the known universe.

 

“The month that I turned nine,” Lance says finally, startling Keith out of his daze, “I decided I wanted to make my own birthday cake, for my party that year. My mom, she was an amazing cook - everything she made ended up tasting like something out of those professional cooking shows - so I came up to her with this recipe for the perfect chocolate cake. I have a point,” Lance cuts in as Keith opens his mouth with a frown, “just let me get to it.

 

“Anyway,” he goes on. “I’d never actually baked anything by myself before. It was always my mom’s thing. Sometimes my older siblings helped, but I had an irrational fear of the oven until I was seven so I never really bothered. But my mom was explaining to me what all the ingredients did as I was adding them to the bowl that day- eggs help it rise and give it structure, sugar gives it flavor, etcetera etcetera. And then we got to the salt. And I was really confused because I didn’t know why I had to add salt to a cake - weren’t cakes supposed to be  _ sweet _ ? But, as it turns out, salt is used in baked goods not to add a salty flavor to the product, but to help bring out the sweetness without it being overwhelming. It’s kind of weird on its own, and it can seem really out of place in the recipe, but it makes everything better. That’s it, then,” Lance finishes, a hint of something sad and nostalgic lingering in his voice. “You’re the salt. And we’re the cake - a badass, alien-killing, robotic space-traveling cake. We could replace you with baking soda or sugar but it would never be the same.”

 

There’s a long, stunned silence on Keith’s end. “I think,” he says at last, “that’s the most thoughtful metaphor someone’s ever written for me.”

 

Lance cracks a smile. “Get a lot of them, do you?”

 

“You have no idea.”

 

“Damn.”

 

“So…” Keith says, hesitating. “Do you, then? Think I should tell them?”

 

“I...think,” Lance adds, “that they’d appreciate it.”

 

Keith looks up from picking at his fingernails. There’s a hangnail on the side of his ring finger that hurts like a bitch, but he’d take a thousand of them in lieu of telling the others that he’s leaving. “Really?” he asks. “You think?”

 

“Yeah. Well, I mean,” Lance goes on, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket, “I’m not gonna lie, they won’t be happy. There’ll be tears. Pidge might throw something. Hunk might cry. Shit,” he says, wincing at the look on Keith’s face, “that didn’t help.” 

 

Keith glares at him and shakes his head, and Lance sighs again, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, Keith.” He actually does meet his eyes now, and there’s a strain to his voice that Keith doesn’t expect to be there, causes a little pang in his chest because out of the seven of them, Lance is probably the least likely to let someone know that they’ve hurt him. Something about his giant ego or the other, probably.

 

“We’re not going to like it. The team...it isn’t going to be the same without you here. But,” Lance shrugs, “I’ve always been lucky enough to come from a family who I love and who loves me and,” he takes a deep breath, “I respect that you need to do what you need to do. It’s going to be hard on all of us. I know you’re not taking this lightly either. But, at the end of the day, you get to decide what’s best for yourself, and when you do, we’ll be there. All of us.”

 

That’s not something Keith expected. “Well, shit, Lance.” He grins. “I...didn’t see that coming.”

 

And just like that, the tension shatters. Lance rolls his eyes and laughs, reaches out to punch him in the leg, although it’s considerably gentler than it could have been. “Shut up, idiot. I’m trying to be a good, supportive friend.”

 

Keith smiles. “Yeah. Thanks. I...I really appreciated that.” He means it, too. Lance’s eyes light up.

 

“I’m pretty great, yes,” he admits. “But you looked like you could use a friend. Because we’re all your friends, Keith. You might be broody and grumpy and annoying, like, ninety percent of the time, but we’re still your friends. We care about you.” Something strange flits across Lance’s face as he finished talking, but it’s gone again just as fast. Keith blinks. Maybe he missed it.

 

“I...care about you guys too, I guess,” Keith says slowly. Lance stares at him in shock for a moment, and then his face slowly spreads into a grin brighter than the fucking sun. He lets out a whooping laugh.

 

“Ha  _ ha! _ He has feelings! He’s capable of love. Who would have guessed? Not me.”

 

Keith points him towards the door. “Get out. I hate you.”

 

Lance shakes his head with a smirk, but he gets up and stretches anyway, walking loosely towards the door. “No you don’t. You just said so.”

 

At first, Keith only obliges because the first thought in his head is that he doesn’t want one of his last moments with Lance telling him that he doesn’t care. And then he registers what that means, that if he tells them tomorrow, that he’ll be gone the day after next, and he won’t see them again until next year, maybe, if he’s lucky. If he’s not?

 

It’s goodbye forever.

 

Lance must see him sobering up because he stops right there. “Oh. Sorry.”

 

Keith waves it off. “Don’t. I’m just. Not used to this? I guess I’m just learning to be so open with you guys. It doesn’t come naturally.”

 

Lance nods appreciatively. “It’s cool. That’s cool. I’m- yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

 

They says their goodbyes, and Keith waits until Lance  almost entirely out of the room, the door starting to slide shut behind him, before yelling “Lance! Wait!” and sticking a foot in the door to prop it open and step through.

 

Lance turns around, surprised. “Oh. Yeah?”

 

Keith takes a deep breath and reaches in for a hug, wrapping his arms around Lance’s chest and his back. He feels Lance tense under him, before arms wrap back around him tentatively.

 

Keith sighs gently in relief, voice already going wobbly. “I mean it,” he says, muffled into the shoulder of Lance’s jacket. “Thank you.”

 

“Yeah,” Lance says softly. His voice is hardly audible. “Yeah.”

 

~

 

He’s turning around, away from the control room, when he catches a glimpse of Lance on the other side.  _ Go _ , his expression seems to say. There’s something undecipherable written there, something that isn’t within Lance’s usual range of expressions. Something there that makes Keith’s heart twist and compels him to hesitate, just for a moment. He wants to walk, but his feet aren’t letting him.

 

_ Go _ , Lance seems to be telling him.  _ We’ll be okay _ .

 

Allura and Coran stand to his left. Hunk, Shiro, and Pidge stand to his right. They all seem to be saying the same thing.

 

They’ll be okay.

 

~

 

Considering that the Altean-to-Earth-time calendar that Pidge found for him is actually accurate, today is one year exactly from the day that the news of the failed Kerberos mission had reached Keith at the Garrison, and he lost the only family he had for ten years.

 

Coincidentally, today is the day that Keith turns his back on the people he loves - people who may not be his family, flesh and blood; people who haven’t known him for years and years, but the people who have taken blades and bullets for him, who have stuck with him and put their lives in danger for him, and taken the time to know him and trust him, and have given him the space and time he needs to trust them back.

 

One year ago today, Keith lost one family. A year later, his family has lost him.

 

Is this some kind of twisted joke? Keith walks down the hallway, blade clutched in his fist, through the Castle to the front door. He’s expecting someone to call after him, to walk after him, to run through the Castle to tell him to stay - that they need him as a paladin, that they need him as a friend, that (his heart pangs as he remembers his talk with Lance) they need him here to bring out the best in them, because they  _ care _ .

 

Maybe he doesn’t just  _ expect _ them to come after him. Maybe he just really really really wishes they would.

 

And, ultimately, like many instances in Keith’s life, he walks out the front door to the blinding glare from the nearest sun-star to where his new craft awaits, feeling nothing but an immense sense of disappointment in his gut.

 

~

 

“So,” Pidge pipes up, her voice tinny and distant-sounding on the small electronic screen. “How are you?”

 

Keith shrugs. It’s strange, here. The hallways are darker than he’s used to. There’s no comforting lull of Hunk’s snoring in the room next to his to help put him to sleep each night. There’s no one here to come get him from the training room when he hasn’t realized that it’s been hours since he ate. Nobody here thinks of him as anything less than a soldier. Not a friend. Not family.

 

Just a soldier.

 

That’s okay with him.

 

“It’s okay,” he answers truthfully. “I...miss you guys.”

 

Pidge gives him a watery smile, small fingers coming up to adjust her glasses. “We miss you too, Keith.”

 

“So,” Keith says, pulling his hood up closer over his head. This has started to grow on him, a little. “Where’s everyone else?”

 

Pidge’s mouth drops open into an  _ o _ , and she purses her lips before giving him an apologetic look. “They went out. Had some more campaigning to do.”

 

Oh. He deflates a little. “Oh. Why didn’t you go with them?”

 

She shrugs. “I get nervous in front of large crowds. Coran has us go on a few at a time now, so no one’s overwhelmed. It’s...been hard,” she admits. “It’s been a rough few weeks. We’ve had our ups and downs but I think it’s started to even out a little.”

 

“Good for you,” Keith says, and he’s surprised to find that he’s half genuine about it. The telltale pang of jealousy strikes, like he’d expected it to, but he’s at least glad to see that he’s right.

 

They’re doing okay.

 

“How’s Black doing?” he asks. “And Red?”

 

Pidge laughs. “They’re just great. Shiro and Lance are taking good care of them. They miss you a lot, though. So do Green and Blue and Yellow. They can tell something’s up, something’s missing. They wish you’d come back.” Her voice drops to a whisper, and she sounds like she’s holding back tears. “We all wish you’d come back.”

 

Keith’s heart breaks a little. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I wish I could. But I can’t. This is-”

 

“Yeah,” Pidge agrees. “I know. It’s okay. Don’t sweat it, Keith. There’s always a place for you here, you know that. Even if you come back tomorrow, or next year, or if you decide to move away forever. You’ll always have a place with us.”

 

Keith forces a smile back at her. “I...thank you. Of course. Of course I know that.”

 

Pidge laughs. “Stop by and say hi sometime, idiot. We want to know what’s up. We’re all tired of seeing your face over this tiny screen.”

 

Keith winces. “About that...Kolivan is really strict about where we go. He says he doesn’t want to compromise the safety of the Blade.”

 

Pidge frowns. “Okay, you know I’d never ask you to put yourself in danger, but you’re  _ Keith _ . SInce when do you listen to anyone? Since  _ never _ , is when. Look, if you just ‘ _ happen’ _ to find yourself near us sometime, just. Just come visit, okay? We really really miss you.”

 

He smiles back for real this time. “I really really miss you guys too.”

 

“Kogane!” someone shouts behind him. “Time!”

 

He winces, and slides the mask back on over his face. “Sorry Pidge, gotta go. I’ll call back, same time next week, okay?”

 

“Yeah. Don’t get yourself killed, Keith. I’m counting on that.”

 

~

 

The Blade of Marmora makes three more stops in the same solar system that Voltron makes four stops in within the next two weeks.

 

Keith thinks about telling the others that he’s stopping by. He even picks up his portable communication screen from the table. And then he flashes back to a certain conversation with a certain Lance McClain. He remembers how it was the first time he had to say goodbye to them, and slowly puts the screen back on its charging port.

 

~

 

So this is how he goes out.

 

This whole situation seems to make sense, in a twisted kind of way. Keith gets family, Keith loses family, Keith makes reckless decisions. Repeat, for as many times as it may apply.

 

Unfortunately, today could very likely be the end of the cycle.

 

If he had to pick one thing he regrets about this whole situation (just one?) it’d be that if Keith had to die, he’d want to die with the rest of Voltron by his side.

 

“Shit,” he mutters, fumbling with the controls. The emergency brake has jammed. It doesn’t work at all anymore, and the primary brake is making weird, shifting motions that Keith doesn’t quite understand. The force field looms up in front of him, growing closer and closer with every passing second. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.” He squeezes his hands around the steering controls in a white-knuckled grip. He has, what, sixty seconds left until impact? Oh,  _ god _ .

 

Well. If he’s going to go out, he might as well make it count.

 

Deep breaths. Breathe in for four counts.

 

_ One _ .

 

He thinks of the Garrison, starry nights and this first glimpse of adrenaline and speed and flying faster than the speed of light. The first taste he had of being free and the first thing he ever fell in love with.

 

_ Two _ .

 

He thinks of the desert, hot and dusty and dry, bringing him to the brink of exhaustion and desperation, frustration and fear. The first family he had slips out from beneath his fingertips and Keith watches as it flies slowly away.

 

_ Three. Four _ .

 

He thinks of blue skies giving away to silver-speckled black. The home that was never really a home grows smaller beneath his feet and he misses it like he’s missing it through another body. He misses his desert, his bike, his photographs and his shack. He never really had much, but it’s gone. There’s something hollow in his chest and Keith looks around and promises that one day, he’ll find out why.

 

Keith closes his eyes. Breathe out.

 

_ One...two...three..- _

 

_ “Keith?” _

 

The terrified shriek that rings through his headset is loud enough for him to jerk violently in his seat, eyes flying open to see the glowing orange growing closer than ever before.

 

“Lance,” he swears, gripping the steering even harder than before. “Please just stop, just  _ go _ -”

 

“What,” Lance cuts him off, “the  _ fuck _ , do you think you’re doing?”

 

Keith has killed before. He’s shot Galra soldiers and stood to see the blood flow from their wounds and the life drain slowly out of their eyes. He’s watched armies open fires on villages, heard the children cry as their parents scream and rush them to shelter.

 

Keith is a soldier now. He’s lived through war.

 

Lance’s voice is so much more scared than anything he’s heard before.

 

“Lance, please, not now-” Keith pleads, squeezing his eyes shut again. His heart hammers wildly in his chest. He can feel the single tear start to roll down his cheek.

 

“You  _ idiot _ , Keith!

 

Forty seconds.

 

“You-you can’t just  _ leave _ us and not see us or talk to us for  _ months _ and come back and throw yourself into a force field? That’s not-not-”

 

“You don’t understand,” Keith says through gritted teeth. 

 

_ Thump thump _ .

 

_ Thirty-five...thirty-four… _

 

“I have to do this, Lance. It’s the only-”

 

The static makes everything sound crackly.  _ The energy _ , Keith thinks desperately,  _ from the force field. It’s breaking up the comms. _

 

“It’s  _ not! _ It’s not the only way, Keith! Just-”

 

It cuts off into crackling, but he can make out bits and pieces of words here and there:

 

“... _ back...need...team you’re a part of this family...we miss...need you.” _

 

Twenty seconds.

 

_ Nineteen...eighteen...seventeen… _

 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Keith yells. The tears are mixing with the blood and the sweat on his face. Everything feels hot at once, the adrenaline pumps through his nerves enough for time to feel like it’s slowed down. “ _ I’m sorry,  _ I am. But you’ve done okay without me. You’ll be okay after this too.”

 

“That’s  _ so  _ many different kinds of wrong, Keith,” Lance screams. He can hear Hunk and Pidge and Shiro shouting into the comms too, but there only seems to be the capacity for one line to talk without the static popping back up. He can barely discern what they’re saying - there seems to be a lot of screams from Pidge’s end and something low and frantic and rushed from Shiro’s end. Hunk is alternating between screaming at him and retching furiously. Keith feels sick.

 

“Just  _ turn _ , turn around, Keith! We’ll stop this another way!  _ You _ , you’re more important.”

 

Ten seconds.

 

Keith slams his head back into the headrest of his seat. “I’ll miss you,” he whispers softly into the headset. “I’m sorry.”

 

_ three...two...one... _

 

and nothing.

 

there’s an explosion

 

Keith’s craft jerks around sharply. His head hits the dashboard, and everything goes black.

 

~

 

If Keith gets a stupid, cliché ending, it’s only fair that he gets a stupidly cliché beginning as well.

 

~

 

Lance catches him as he falls out of the healing pod, three days later, and sets him down onto a cushioned chair. (“You’re a fucking  _ idiot _ , Keith,” Lance whispers into his ear as he helps him sit up. “An  _ idiot _ .)

 

“Okay,” Keith manages to get out, as the rest of the six look at him. “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment or kudos if you liked it bc they make me really happy!  
> and come scream about stuff with me i'm a very excitable person


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